


Generations (The Cocoa and Rain Remix)

by paperdream



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Dark Knight Returns (2012-2013)
Genre: Canon What Canon, Future Fic, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Rivalry, carrie just wants steamproof glasses, damian doesnt know what he wants but this isnt it, dick just wants everyone to be Warm, more like comfort/hurt/comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdream/pseuds/paperdream
Summary: Carrie's having some trouble living up to expectations, Damian's a little snot, and Dick just wants everyone to get along.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Carrie Kelly is my child and I don't care what I have to do to continuity to include her. My ideal Dick Grayson insists Bruce isn't "that old" but starts making old people jokes at his own expense the minute he turns 26, much to his younger siblings' annoyance.

            The figure at the edge of the rooftop had grown, but the petulant posture was unchanged from the one he had adopted when he was ten. Nightwing swung onto the roof, pivoting his hips to narrowly avoid a collision, almost spilling his cargo.

            “I have hot chocolate,” he presented a steaming paper cup. When the cup went unacknowledged, he swung his arm around a shoulder and adopted a wheedling tone, “It has hazelnut creamer in it. And I brought enough for everyone!”

            “Tt—I don’t think crime takes snack breaks, Grayson.” He shrugged the arm off his shoulder and tossed a contemptuous look over his shoulder.

            Dick rolled his eyes. “It’s so nasty out here not even the Joker’s crazy enough to be out. You want some, Robin?”

            The girl bounced up from her place dangling her legs off the edge of the roof. “Yes!”

            Damian snorted something that sounded like, “Kelly,” and hunched his shoulders toward his ears.

            Dick passed one of the cups over to Carrie and mouthed, “Ignore him.” The two sat at the edge of the building, kicking their legs. Dick kept Damian’s cup on his lap.

            As if to prove that no one else, in their right mind or not, was out that night, the weighty cloud cover decided to release the rain it had been threatening for the past week. Carrie squeaked and tried to take shelter by pulling her cape over her head. The combination of the small space and the steam from her hot chocolate made her glasses fog up.

            Damian was trying not to look like he wasn’t trying to shrink into a ball to conserve heat as he edged toward the steam rising from the warm cups. “You ought to stop wearing your glasses on patrol, _Robin_. They’re too recognizable, and a mask wouldn’t steam up. It’s a tactical disadvantage.”

            “Nope, you are wrong, definitely wrong,” Dick said, leaning back from the edge and waving a hand in front of his face. “The masks can _definitely_ fog up.”

            “No they can’t!”

            “See for yourself!” Dick held out the third cup of cocoa.

            “Tt—you’re lying.” He snatched the cup away and took a big swig.

            Dick smirked as behind him Damian held the warm cup close to his face and nudged Carrie with an elbow, “See, you just need to know how to handle him.”

            “Excuse me?” Damian stomped over and plopped down, legs folded rather than dangling. “And the mask lenses do not fog up!”

            Carrie giggled. Damian glared at her. Dick took the opportunity of his finished hot chocolate to ruffle his hands through both of their hair.

            “I’ve been managing you since you were ten, it isn’t news. Besides, you need to get over this dumb feud. Someone else has to take up the mantle when you’re done; big deal!” He put his hands on his hips, mouth screwed to the side.

            Damian turned his back to the other two and muttered something. Carrie pushed herself up, shaking her cape off of her head and pushing soaked red hair off her forehead. “I think I hear a mugging. I’ll go deal with that while you two work out your… family business.” She backed up a few steps for a running start and leapt off the roof with a whoop, grappling line lodging in the brickwork of the building across the street.

            Dick crinkled his nose. “Family business? She makes it sound like we’re the mafia.” Damian didn’t respond. Dick sighed. “Look, you have to learn to work with other people on your own some time! I’m getting old!”

            The younger man turned to glare at him. “I have perfectly adequate people skills, and you are not old.”

            Dick smirked. “I am!” He flailed an arm through the air, “My knees, my shoulders, my hips, it’s all going!” The momentum of his arm was apparently too much for him, and the acrobat tumbled backward into a somersault that left him splayed across the rough surface of the roof.

            “Tt—I’ll attempt to be _nicer_ to Kelly, if it will make you stop pestering me.” He paced deliberately in the opposite direction from the one Carrie had left in to make his own descent.

            “Hey!” Dick called after him, “You better start looking into good nursing homes soon! That’s what brothers are for!”

            He watched the dark shape swing off through the city in search of something to hit, and when it vanished out of sight, started collecting empty cocoa cups. Superheroes aren’t supposed to litter.

*

            Carrie walked down to sidewalk, wishing she had pockets to stick her hands in. Maybe she should take Tim’s lead and add some pants to her costume, even if it was just for the winter. Suits to match the seasons was a perfectly logical proposition, and she didn’t know why none of her peers seemed to have put it into practice.

            The pavement was completely empty, not even a carjacker in sight. She kicked through the puddles, before thinking of what kind of residue was probably being washed off at that very moment and deciding it was safer not to. Somewhere up ahead, there was a clatter; probably just a stray cat looking for shelter from the rain, but it’s not like she had anything else to check out.

            She jogged up to the alley she had heard the sound coming from, cape slapping against the backs of her bare thighs. Pants. Going on the to-do list.

            Even if it was just a cat, she mused, maybe bringing home another animal to add to the Bat-Menagerie would get her in her predecessor’s good books. She’d heard a rumor of a cow, but when she tried to get confirmation from Cassie and Steph they just shrugged and laughed before Cassie said quietly, “Some depths are better left unplumbed.”

            Rounding the corner to the alley the noise had come from, Carrie froze. The noise hadn’t come from any stray cat; pulling himself out of a manhole was Killer Croc.

            She could have smacked herself; they shouldn’t have assumed the now mostly sedentary resident of Gotham’s sewers would miss the chance to get up to trouble while everyone else was inside taking cover from the rain. He was probably the only person in the city who _enjoyed_ the smoggy, dirty rain.

            Slowly, she backed up, trying not to make a noise as she tapped the comm in her ear, “Batman, I’m at the alley by the movie theater on 33rd, and…” She trailed off as a hulking figure lumbered out of the alley in question. Under her breath she muttered something that Dick would probably threaten to wash her mouth out with soap for, as if he didn’t have just as dirty a mouth sometimes.

            Mentally, Carrie ran through the files she’d had to memorize; she was really regretting cramming for the quiz Batman gave her before he’d let her out on patrol. Did Killer Croc have enhanced senses in addition to enhanced strength?

            “Robin, what’s going on?” Batman demanded in her ear.

            Carrie took another slow step backward, trying not to splash her boot through any of the puddles. Apparently, she wasn’t quiet enough, and Killer Croc rounded, nostrils flaring as they made eye contact.

            “Killer Croc!” she squeaked bounding back looking for better ground.

            “Robin, do not engage him, I’m on my way. Who’s closest?” Batman said, more urgently.

            Carrie bounded around a lamppost, getting ready to make for higher ground; she stopped paying attention to what was happening on comms other than to note that it had devolved into urgent shouting. She fired her grappling gun, but Croc swatted the line out of the air. Alright, plan B. Killer Croc had tough skin, she remembered that much, but that probably didn’t extend to his eyes.

            She ran into the middle of the street, trying to get him away from any buildings and started launching ball bearings with her slingshot. He was big, and slow, and she could take advantage of that.

            Croc lumbered toward the middle of the empty street; if this was going to work, she’d have to time it just right. As he closed in, she got ready, shouting, “Hey, ugly, thought you were too old to leave the sewers!”

            Carrie ran straight toward him, managing to get some leverage from his slightly bent knee to use his scaly shoulder as a springboard. She grabbed a lamppost, swinging to leap to the awning of a shop and from there to the roof, and…

            Her hands started to slide off the cold metal pole, setting her off balance. She cursed herself for forgetting about the rain, using one hand to try to grab her grappling gun for a last-ditch effort for the higher ground as a large, clawed hand wrapped itself around her shin.

            She was yanked away from the lamppost, dangling upside down from Killer Croc’s huge hand. Her glasses tumbled to the ground, and she made a somewhat hysterical note that maybe Damian was right about the mask thing. Sharp claws dug into her calf, and she tried not to give Croc the satisfaction of making a sound.

            The claws dug in a little deeper and the grip tightened to the point that she was starting to be concerned about broken bones as she was swung around so that she was directly in front of the upside-down visage of her captor. Her sight was filled with rows of sharp, somewhat blurry teeth and big yellow eyes. She scrambled for a birdarang from her belt so she could make one last attack on those eyes.

            Croc noticed, and used his free hand’s claws to slice her utility belt off her waist, and it tumbled to the ground, out of reach. The mouthful of teeth stretched into what might have either been a smile or a grimace; his breath stank like the sewers, that was for sure. It was a minor miracle all those teeth hadn’t fallen out years ago.

            “He recruited another one? What, the last one dying a few years back wasn’t enough to get the idea into his head?” The voice wasn’t what she had anticipated, deeper than average but not particularly monstrous. He chuckled, “Maybe this time he’ll get the message.”

            The other hand came up to grasp her hair and, defenseless, Carrie abandoned all pretense of calm. “No, no, no, _no._..!”

            The shining yellow eyes rolled back, and something shivery ran through Carrie’s body. Then, they were falling, the now-lax fingers scraping through her calf one last time.

            Clumsy, she tried to roll off her unconscious foe, looking around for her savior.

            “Stop that,” a flat voice said from behind her. She couldn’t make out feature without her glasses; she could see the yellow of her utility belt, held aloft, and dark clothing, but that didn’t give her much.

            “Don’t—here.” Her glasses were pushed up her nose, and gloved hands grasped at her leg, applying a temporary bandage: it was Damian, and she was probably going into shock, she noted distantly.

            Damian sighed, and slung her up into his arms bridal style. “That was reckless and stupid. You should have gotten to a better position as soon as you realized who it was and that you wouldn’t be able to take him on yourself.” She wanted to protest being carried like she was a child, but couldn’t seem to summon the energy. “You’ll be off patrol until your leg heals, now. You’re lucky if nothing’s fractured.”

            “Sorry,” she said. It came out slightly slurred.

            “Tt— Red Robin’s bringing the car, he should be just up here. You’re to report to the cave tomorrow morning; you clearly need more training, and something can be done about _that_ even with an injured leg.”

            Carrie blinked slowly. “Wh- oh. Thank you.” She felt warm behind her sternum. Probably a symptom of the shock.


End file.
